The Botticelli Swindler
by Boque
Summary: Paintings have disappeared throughout the art galleries in the world, including the exclusive Uffizi Gallery in France, which once held the Cestello Annunciation by Sandro Botticelli. What con-artist is carefully taking these paintings and how did they sn


**Title**: The Botticelli Swindler  
**Author**: Boque  
**Rating**: Sorta Naughty – PG-13  
**Warnings**: Mild language.  
**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Notes**: I'd like to thank Carmen (_giveitlove/writtenreality_) for her amazing beta skills. To Bobby (_bobbert_) for his delectable taste in names, plot development, and of course, romance. The rest goes out to those D/G lovers who truly understand what this 'ship is all about. All galleries and paintings are in true form – locations may have changed to fit the plot, but other than that, all paintings, painters, and galleries and actual in real life.  
**Summary**: Paintings have disappeared throughout the art galleries in the world, including the exclusive Uffizi Gallery in France, which once held the _Cestello Annunciation_ by Sandro Botticelli. What con-artist is carefully taking these paintings and how did they sneak through the magical shield that surrounded the Malfoy owned gallery?

**EXTRA NOTE**: I am aware that the Uffizi Gallery is in Italy, but I changed it to France to enhance the tone of the story!

* * *

**Chapter One: The Missing**

Assignments were meant for the destitute. No respectable owner of any exclusive gallery would literally visit the hovel and supervise such common needs, especially when prior engagements were already planned. Draco Malfoy believed himself to be a man of high honor and performing such general tasks demeaned him into a worker – _a middle-class worker_.

As he entered the glass doors of his gallery, Draco tilted his head to the high ceilings and stared critically at the exquisite paintings that graced the walls. Markings of spectacular form twisted and turned around each corner and he couldn't help feel pride swell within his chest. This was his gallery. The Uffizi Gallery was his.

"_Bonsoir, Monsieur_," greeted a cool voice.

"Good evening, Jac," Draco replied, distracted hands coming to fix the collar of his suit. "It has been quite a while since I've visited."

Jac laughed. "_Oui_, _Monsieur,_ it has. The officers are here. Shall I escort you to the East end?" Turning around, Jac began walking swiftly down the narrow hallway.

Bewildered, Draco remained. "The officers?" he asked aloud, causing Jac to stop in his tracks and face him. "What officers are you speaking of?"

"Surely, your mother has told you. _Le tableau, Monsieur_. The painting has been stolen," Jac informed him, in disbelief. "We called Madame Malfoy as soon as we discovered the empty wall. The painting was stolen last night."

"It is impossible," Draco mumbled to himself, stalking away to gather his thoughts. "This building is guarded by over thirty wards. This cannot be." He motioned for Jac to come to him. "Was the security changed?"

Jac shook his head. "No, _Monsieur_, it was not. All locks were secure. Nothing was found broken and our cameras and detectors found nothing present during the burglary.

"Imbeciles," he snapped. "Where were you during this heist? How could you let such a thing occur in this gallery! This is unacceptable!" he roared, ignoring the look of terror on Jac's face.

Jac took a deep breath. "I was at home, _Monsieur_, as were the other directors. There is no need for us here when the equipment and wards are set."

"Did you perform a detection spell? Have you tried using potions for any signs of _anything_? Did you investigate with the staff and other workers?" Draco demanded, grabbing Jac by the shirt and pulling him. "Did you do _anything_?"

"We've tried every detection spell possible, Monsieur Malfoy. We've tried the truth serum on every worker that is here. No one has seen anything and no one knows anything. There is no trace of a burglar."

"That cannot be," Draco stressed. "Such acts must have footprints behind them. There is no possible way that a witch or wizard could have gone through these wards. They are too powerful. Some were created for the purpose of this gallery."

"Monsieur, if you please," Jac pleaded, hands gesturing down the narrow hallway. "The officers have been waiting."

Draco scoffed and proceeded forward. "Let them wait. What good could Muggles do?"

* * *

"We'll make sure to keep a look out, _directeur_," stated one of the officers, his lit cigar emitting a heavy stream of smoke. "The painting will be found."

Jac nodded. "I trust in you, Officer Ricatti. Please notify me if you discover anything. _Merci beaucoup_."

Standing in the lone shadows of the corner, Draco stared as the crowd of officers stumbled out of the room, obviously drunk and tipsy with cigars. These men knew nothing and would forget all the details by the next morning. Relying on French officers was like relying on women – it was pointless. He held his place until they all were gone. "Jac," he called out.

Jac quickly sauntered to where Draco stood and bowed. "_Monsieur_ Malfoy."

"This painting," Draco eyed the empty wall to the left. "How significant is it?"

"All paintings in the Uffizi Gallery are significant, _monsieur_. All items here are rare," he answered sincerely.

Draco sighed, aggravated. "Tell me, Jac. How significant is this painting?"

Lowering his gaze to the floor, Jac stayed silent, contemplating the statement he would soon say and the consequences of its impact. Clenching his trembling hands into fists, Jac finally looked up and whispered, "It was the _Cestello Annunciation_, _Monsieur_. The painting by Sandro Botticelli."

Heart halting and brain ceasing all function, Draco stared, wide-eyed, as the words were processed in his mind. _Cestello Annunciation_, his mind repeated, _the painting in which Gabriel flew in to meet Mary_.

"I must go," he rasped, complexion pale and breathing irregular, "I will contact you shortly."

* * *

The dim lights of the candles surrounding them cascaded through the thin body of Narcissa Malfoy. Her shadow mimicked her movements gracefully and her petite hands rested softly on her son's shoulders. Wisps of white locks fell over her worried eyes as she stated shakily, "You will go on with this investigation, Draco. You cannot leave such things undone. Our name is to be upheld."

"Our name has already been soiled," he sneered, jerking away and stepping towards the fire. "Years without him and we've still bad karma to endure. It's ridiculous."

"The _Cestello Annunciation_ is one of the most moving paintings of the early Renaissance. It was a burden to acquire in the past. Your ancestors went through more than just bad karma, Draco. It was _suffering_ for them," she defended, heart broken at the expressionless look on her son's face. Things such as these could not be so easily dismissed.

"Then why obtain it?" He stared directly at his mother and asked deathly, "_Why even bother with such trouble_?"

"You are ignorant," she realized aloud. "You are naïve and young. Age did not mature your mind, Draco, and that hurts me the most. Six years out of school and you still act like a child."

Angered, Draco turned away, jaw clenched and back stiff. What his mother had just said was true – a spiteful jab at his dignity. He was still a child. He had done nothing to alter that. Maybe it was time to.

"That gallery was owned by your grandfather," his mother continued. "Years of being in the Malfoy name …" she trailed off. "It as now been passed to us and look at what we have done." She held back a sob and whispered gently, "Where are we to start?"

"I will travel back to France tomorrow morning. All the proper wards have been set up at Uffizi. Apparating is forbidden within the grounds." As he spoke, he tidied up his appearance and snapped his fingers. "Jac and I will interview all guests and clientele – under my supervision." His houself finally appeared – fur robe in tow. He quickly grabbed it and looked at his concerned mother. "I will find the painting and its thief. And when I do, it will be more than the authorities that will take action."

With that, he Apparated back to his flat, leaving his mother half-relieved and his conscience finally cleared.

* * *

"Were you present within the gallery during the time of the burglary, _Monsieur_ Victor?" Jac repeated once more, tired eyes staring at Draco.

"No, Sir," _Monsieur_ Victor replied, eyes black and body sluggish.

Draco let out an irritated sigh and flipped a hand. "Let him go," he ordered, hands coming up to rub his temples.

A large man immediately wrapped his bulky arms around the oblivious worker and carried him out through the door.

Jac turned to Draco. "Do you need a caffeinated drink, _Monsieur_?"

Draco disregarded the question. "How many more?"

"Just one, _Monsieur_. Our wine and champagne provider. She has been interviewed in the past," Jac answered, flipping through old parchments. "She has been working with us for over two years. She is dependable and has fine taste in such delicacies."

"Your client is here," stated the same large bodyguard. He held the door open and in entered a petite woman, a bright smile on her face.

"_Directeur_!" she gushed, small hand coming out to shake his. "It has been only a few days." She laughed melodiously. "I fear I have seen you a bit too much."

"Ah, _Manquer _Weasley, I could never tire of such a sweet face," Jac responded, softly kissing her hand and holding it.

She grinned. "And I could never tire of such a great man. I do believe my father is quite jealous of you," she joked, taking a seat across from him.

Jac chuckled. "Your father is a good man. A bit slow on the wine, but a good man."

"That is something I will indefinitely agree on," she giggled.

Draco watched carefully in the corner as the Weasley scum continued her light conversation. Her hair still the shade of blood he had always detested, Draco found it hard not to snarl at her appearance. Feigning such class, such elegance? It was beyond him and seeing someone so beneath his caliber attempting to be more sent him into a mad frenzy. Her light brown suit accented more than just her body and his eyes roamed her furiously. To see such a commoner dress like his kind spurred him to speak up – to set things straight.

"Give her the serum," Draco commanded, pride satisfied when the youngest Weasley stared his way, obviously shocked. "I will not be left waiting, Jac," he added.

Jac swallowed nervously, embarrassed, and ordered for the guard to come. "Hand her the potion, Benedict." He looked up at her. "You do not have to worry, Ginny," he used her childhood nickname, "this will not harm you. It will just be as the last interview."

She nodded. "I understand,_ directeur_," she assured him.

She lifted the small vial to her lips and gulped all the contents down. Soon enough, her eyes shot open wide and her spine straightened.

"Your full name?" Jac inquired.

"Ginevra Molly Prewett Weasley," she replied monotonously.

Jac opened his mouth to ask another question, when Draco intervened smoothly. "Your age, Miss Weasley?"

"Twenty-four."

"Where were you on the seventeenth of March?"

"Providing thirty-four cases of _Petit Sirah_ grapes to Monsieur Devou."

This caught Draco's attentions, but not for investigation reasons. "_Petit Sirah_ grapes? Why is that?"

"He makes his own brand of wine and was in need of the grapes. They were in season."

"Were you in the vicinity of the Uffizi gallery at any point during that night?"

"No."

"Did you witness any burglaries within the gallery that night?"

"No."

"Do you have any information relating to the burglary that night?"

"No."

"Draco!" snapped Jac. "That is enough. She knows nothing – she saw nothing – _she committed nothing_. Leave her be and let her go."

Draco shut his eyes. "Take her, Benedict."

The bulky bodyguard appeared before them once more, gently hefting up Miss Weasley and taking her out of the room and through the door. Jac stared stonily as the door flew closed, leaving the silence of the room to fill their ears.

The silence was soon broken. "Do not think her a thief because of your backgrounds," Jac stated, expressionless. "I have known you since you were a child, _Monsieur_. Pure blood can only take you so far."

"I don't believe I've asked for your opinion, Jac," Draco replied dismissively.

"Her name may be of Weasley, but her heart is of a queen," Jac declared smoothly, standing up. He headed for the door as Draco spoke.

"She is scum," he hissed uncontrollably, "as is her entire ancestry of unsophisticated dogs."

Jac snapped, his hand coming forth to point a scolding finger. "Such language _is_ the language of dogs. Such sophistication from you I have yet to see. You are nothing but a man who harbors a loathing that is unjustifiable. You are your father's son," he challenged.

Quiet, Draco placed his wand in his pocket and swiftly walked past Jac. He stopped just before the door and turned his head. "I will not disagree," he said, almost too soft to hear.

* * *

Now in the solace of his lavishly furnished flat, Draco sat restless on his desk and he scanned the files on his desk. The amount of parchments was innumerable and he wished he could crawl into the comforting confines of his bed and forget that responsibility even existed. Losing the painting in the last few days caused uproar. Articles, mostly written by Rita Skeeter, graced the front pages of many newspapers. Word of the burglary had been seen in the Muggle world, too.

Inclining his head, Draco spotted the blasted sheet of parchment that was previously owled to his home. It was thin, torn and indisputably a commoner's letter. He had read it with disgust and fought hard to throw it away. Who was she to think that he would accept such help? Especially from a woman of her stature? Enlisting any help from a girl lacking class and refinement was laughable.

Just as he mocked her homely scrawls, the window flew open, welcoming the same owl that entered just hours before.

Irritated, Draco snatched the parchment from its beak and scanned each line.

_Mister Malfoy,_

_I can predict that you've burned my last letter and I do not blame you for it. But,_

_ignoring such a lead is life threatening._

_Meet me. Seven o'clock at the _Mensonge Café_ tomorrow night. Your information will be given._

_Ginevra Weasley_

Draco crumpled the paper of shreds and threw the remaining pieces out the window. Breathing rapid, he shut his eyes and massaged the lids. He couldn't think – not with all this badgering continuing almost everyday.

_You are your father's son_, he could hear Jac repeat over and over.

Making his final decision, Draco grabbed a rich, thick sheet of parchment and elegantly wrote his reply.

_My presence should be expected. Do not be late_.

He called for his eagle and tied the note to his leg. "Ginevra Weasley," he ordered. He gazed as his eagle owl flew away, destination already in check. Weasley or not, she had information that could lead to the capture of the Botticelli swindler.

* * *


End file.
